Tough Market
by MeowChan16
Summary: Giripan with US/Canada/Prussia love triangle AU for PRUSSIAisAWESOME. Kiku works in Corporate America as a graphic designer for a popular drink company. The CEO, a seemingly lazy man named Heracles, visits the marketing unit and takes an interest in him.
1. Chapter 1

**Tough Market**

**CHAPTER I**

Kiku Honda lightly tapped his cheek with a pencil, trying to concentrate on the white paper glaring up at him, but his eyes were growing heavy. After pulling an all-nighter discussing packaging designs with Jones-san, the marketing manager, he was well beyond tired. As a graphic designer for an international drink corporation, Jones-san was his boss; if he called in the middle of the night, there was nothing Kiku could do but answer. What was most shocking to him was that Jones-san had been wide-awake at two in the morning as if it were a natural occurrence. Sometimes, he felt like the only one in the world who fell asleep and woke up early, ready to start the day's work before the sun rose.

As he tried to remember the new product Jones-san had been so excited about the night before, a faint memory of his superior babbling on about coconut water reminded him. Then he recalled how the American had persuaded him into designing the packaging, although 'persuasion' was not quite the right term. 'Forced it on him' was a better explanation of what had transpired.

Determined to focus on the task at hand, he brought the pencil to the paper, sketching aimlessly. Looking back at his work, he internally fought with the drawing, hating how he knew what a coconut looked like and yet his picture was not quite right. The two ovals covered in scraggly hair and hanging off the palm tree better resembled a pair of male…

He did not want to finish that thought. Figuring it was time to take a break, Kiku left his cubicle for the vending machine, walking under the rows of lights as he contemplated what energy drink he should buy. The day before, he had gotten the special Hello Kitty energy drink, but today he was in the mood for something different: maybe one of those Hitman Energy Shooters…

Kiku pulled out his wallet and started rummaging, seeing no reason to break a dollar with all the coins he had. In his concentration on finding the proper change, he didn't even have a chance to register Alfred F. Jones's presence beside him. "Kiku, my man!" Alfred shouted gleefully, slapping his subordinate on the back. "How's your day been?"

Recoiling, the Japanese man dropped his wallet on the floor, coins of silver and copper strewn everywhere. "G-Good morning, Jones-san," he greeted him, putting on a polite smile as he gathered up his money. "I am well, although I am a bit tired after last night, but do not worry-"

Alfred cut him off with another slap to the back, grinning with bright blue eyes as he exclaimed, "Last night? Ah, Kiku, I knew you had it in you!"

"I-I beg your pardon, Jones-san?"

"You finally scored, didn't you? How was it? Was she hot? Or he? You know, whatever way you swing."

Staring blankly at him as his cheeks began to heat up, Kiku was having a difficult time following what his boss was saying. He couldn't have already forgotten about their business conversation only six hours ago...could he? This _was_ Alfred F. Jones, after all. "Jones-san-"

"And quit calling me that! I told you to call me 'Alfred'! But if you absolutely _have_ to be formal, call me 'Mr. Jones'. This is _America_ and we speak American in America, not Polish."

"…Mr. Jones, 'san' is a Japanese honorific, not Polish. And we speak English in America."

"Yeah, but it's _American_ English."

Kiku sighed, seeing no reason to argue with his superior about the proper language of a nation. "Mr. Jones, I did not partake in any…intimate activities last night. You called me about the company's new product, remember?"

It took a few seconds to fully dawn on him, but Alfred's sleep-deprived brain managed to pull through. Slapping his forehead, the American laughed obnoxiously loud. "Oh, right! The coconut water! I'd completely forgotten. I guess you're not a night person, huh?"

"Not at all, Mr. Jones," Kiku answered, shaking his head back and forth so that his black bangs tossed ever so slightly.

"Anyway, right, coconut water. Dude, that shit is amazing. It tastes a little bit like almonds and it's really good for your health, like an eco-hero or something! Isn't that awesome?

"That's…that's very interesting."

"With the American public focused on the environment and organic stuff, coconut water should be a real hit! Which is why I need you to work fast on the design. Other companies have shown interest in it, so we need to beat them to the shelves." Leaning in close, he whispered, "Especially our good buddy 'M'."

Kiku nodded, understanding why his superior had suddenly hushed his tone. In all the years Opa!-Cola had thrived on the earth, only one drink company could rival them, and that was Merhaba. There were always nasty rumors flying left and right about spies stealing secrets from the inside out, which, Kiku had to admit, had some merit to them. After all, Merhaba's products were growing increasingly similar to their own; so similar that the media was spewing conspiracy theories of the companies being one and the same, just putting on an act for the American public. When Opa!-Cola signed a deal to create a Hello Kitty-themed energy drink, their competitor released one featuring the Chinese equivalent, Shinatty-chan, and only a day later, nonetheless. Merhaba was a copycat corporation, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise if there _were_ some moles infiltrating their company as they spoke.

"I understand, Mr. Jones," the Japanese man informed him. "I will work on the design as if my life depends on it."

Grinning wider, Alfred patted him on the back, gentler this time. "That's the spirit!" Kiku just smiled back and inserted coins into the vending machine's slot, pressing the button for the Hitman Energy Shooter. His boss noticed. "Ah, that's just what I was thinking of getting. I love that shit. I mean, just think of the name of it: it's like the mafia in a bottle! I'm so glad we bought out Monster!"

Kiku nodded as he bent down to retrieve his energy drink from the machine, also quite pleased that Opa!-Cola had obtained the popular brand. Then again, Merhaba took over Rockstar a short while later because, like their own company, Red Bull was _way_ out of their league. "I agree. It was a profitable gain for our company."

"Hey, more importantly, it's a gain for _us_," Al told him, shoving dollar bills into the machine and violently jabbing the same button as his subordinate had.

"I agree," Kiku concurred, watching the American kneel down and snatch his drink from the vending slot.

Standing up, Alfred swiped his change from the machine and stuffed the coins haphazardly in his pocket. "Dude, why do you always agree with me? Come on, show me you've got a spine in that little body of yours." However, before Kiku had a chance to speak, Alfred shouted, "Oh, that reminds me! I saw this special yesterday about the Roswell incident. You know, with the aliens. Did you know they don't have spines? Isn't that amazing?"

"It certainly is," Kiku agreed, shifting his weight onto his other foot. He really needed to get back to work, but he had a feeling his superior wasn't going to stop talking anytime soon.

Sure enough, Kiku was left standing there for half an hour more as Alfred babbled on about aliens, UFOs, and how the government was trying to conceal their existence. Both had finished their drinks and Kiku was anxious to return to working on his design for the coconut water. The Japanese man was starting to wonder why he put up with this mind-numbing nonsense. Sighing, he reminded himself that Alfred was his boss and it was a lot easier to stand there and listen to him blather than to interrupt.

"And it's so _obvious_ we aren't the only life source out there. If there's life on one planet in this solar system, who's to say there isn't another planet in the universe that had life? The odds are just too great. Yet, people think you're crazy if you even mention the _possibility_ of life on other planets! Believe me, I've…" Alfred trailed off, his blue eyes focused past the Japanese man and hardening with tense irritation. "Oh, that little bastard."

His brow furrowing, Kiku asked, "Sorry, what?"

"Weillschmidt. He's talking to Matt again."

Following his gaze, Kiku found a certain cubicle and sure enough, the self-proclaimed _ore-sama _was leaning over the desk and conversing with Matthew Williams. "Why yes he is. Is there a problem?"

"W-Well, you know," Alfred stuttered, nervously running a hand through blonde strands of hair, "he, he should be working or, or something or, yeah. Yeah. A-And I bet he's making Matt uncomfortable. Probably being a real jerk."

Raising his eyebrows, Kiku observed his co-workers and commented, "Matthew doesn't appear at all uncomfortable to me."

"That's, that's just b-because he's too nice to tell the bastard off. R-Really, I bet Weillschmidt is really bothering him."

"…Mr. Jones, if you don't mind me asking, are you jealous?"

"M-Me? Jealous?" Alfred scoffed at the idea, but Kiku saw right through him. "Why, why would _I_ be jealous? Matt can talk to whoever he wants. I'm Alfred Fucking Jones! I could have anyone I want! It's not like I lie in bed every night wondering what type of shampoo he uses or when he wakes up or how goddamn _beautiful_ he'd look caught in a rainstorm or, or, o-or…"

Realizing the more he spoke, the more he dug his own grave, Al shut his mouth and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Fine, so I've got a thing for him."

"I can see why," Kiku remarked, observing the object of his superior's affection. "He is rather good-looking and seems to be a sweet person."

Alfred let out a longing sigh, drawing circles on his cheek with his finger. "I know, right? God, sometimes I just want to take him to my office and fuck him over the desk _hard_."

Kiku nearly spit out his drink when he heard this, the tart liquid heading down his windpipe. "M-Mr. Jones, pl-please refrain from making such vulgar statements," he choked out.

"Huh? Oh, I guess that sounded awkward. Sorry, man, it's just…when I see how those slacks fit just _perfectly_ around his ass…I mean, he's got to know what he does to me, right? No one can be _that _innocent."

Wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible, the Japanese man simply answered, "He must." Not only would it be nearly impossible to make his boss understand the world didn't revolve around him, that poor Matthew likely didn't have a clue, and that romance between co-workers were never a smart idea, but he could possibly offend the man. And wasn't _that_ a one-way ticket to damaging their work relations (a field he knew all too well after applying for a job at a Chinese toy store back in high school). Besides, Kiku had never been the kind to voice his opinion, so it was easier just to agree and move on.

"Yeah, yeah, he's got to have those things tailored just to tease me like that," Alfred convinced himself. "God, that little _minx_. …All right, nothing to do but fight fire with fire."

With that, the American ordered another energy drink from the machine and sauntered over to Matt's cubicle. A muffled cover of "I Know You Want Me" thrummed in his throat until he opened his mouth, shouting, "Hey, Matt!"

Matthew, clearly jarred by the sudden blast of volume, jumped in his seat. "Y-Yes, sir? Is something wrong?" He flinched as Alfred slammed the energy drink down on his desk, looking up at his superior with fretting violet eyes.

"Yeah, you talking to this punk when you _should_ be working. Unless…" Al paused, putting on his sexiest grin as he traced the aluminum circle topping the can, "…you'd like to take a lunch break with me." He sent a challenging glance in Gilbert's direction - the albino looking thoroughly pissed off - before returning his gaze to the cute Canadian.

Blushing, Matthew twirled a wavy blonde lock and apologized, "Sorry, but I already have plans. Maybe tomorrow?"

Alfred's grin twitched at the ends, but he kept it steady. It wasn't like he'd expected Matt to jump at the chance, but he hadn't thought he'd be turned down so _innocently_. "Well, I'll have to see if I'm free, but I'm sure I could fit that in," he agreed, lightly batting the can closer to Matthew's hand. "So yeah, let's have lunch tomorrow. It's too bad, though. I already got another energy drink hoping someone would join me for lunch."

"I'll take it," Gilbert offered, smirking with shrugged shoulders. Alfred glared at him, not amused.

"Weillschmidt, get back to work."

"The awesome me is on break and, in case you hadn't noticed, was in the middle of a conversation before you interrupted."

"Were you?" his superior asked with a mocking smile. "Sorry, I guess you weren't awesome enough for me to notice."

"More like _you_ weren't awesome enough to notice _me_."

"Who's the one with a country that still exists? Oh yeah, me."

"I don't care if Prussia had an 'official' dissolution. Prussia lives on through the blood of its people!"

"Um, g-guys?"

The two stopped their bickering and looked to Matthew, having forgotten he was there. "I, um, I'm sorry, but there's somewhere I have to be," he timidly informed them, and Kiku could tell the obvious tension between the two was making the man uncomfortable. Shy eyes scanning his cubicle for something, Matt muttered, "Where'd I put it? Oh, Gil, I think I left my coat at your desk earlier. Could you get it for me?"

Smirking triumphantly at his surprised superior, Gilbert replied, "Anything for you, Birdie," and walked off. Alfred watched him go, trying to bury his growing insecurity. He didn't want to think about why Gilbert had a pet name for Matthew or why Matt's coat was in the Gilbert's cubicle. All he knew was that he needed a special name to call the Canadian by if he wanted to measure up.

"So, Mattie, um, you mind if I call you Mattie?" Matthew opened his mouth, but Al didn't give him a chance to speak. "Good. Anyway, keep the drink. My treat."

"Oh, sir, I can't-"

"No, I insist. And for God's sake, you don't need to be so formal with me! Call me 'Al' or 'Alfred'. Whatever you like."

"Um, a-all right, _Alfred_," Matthew spoke, his syrupy voice testing the name on his tongue. A sweet smile made a way onto his face, nearly driving his boss crazy with want. "Thank you for the drink."

Flustered by how fast his pulse was driving now, Alfred stuttered, "N-No, um, it's not, it's nothing…um, h-have a great lunch."

Kiku winced as his superior walked back, looking like a kicked puppy. And he'd been doing so well, handling the situation with slick ease until that point. "He's just testing me, you know," Al told him, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I _am_ having lunch with him tomorrow, so this is progress…Unless he's planning to stand me up. Shit, do you think he would do that?"

Shaking his head, the Japanese man sighed and decided to set his boss straight as lightly as he could. "I don't think that would be in his nature. Matthew comes off as genuine to me. It could be that he really did have a prior engagement and wanted to make it up to you."

"…I know," Al admitted, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he pouted. "I know that, but did you see the way he smiled at me? And the way he called me Alfred…he could still be playing hard to get, right? 'Cause, you know, that'd be sexy and…and…stuff."

"Mr. Jones, you can't force your fantasies-"

"What if he's having lunch with Gilbert?" Alfred asked, and Kiku heard the crack in his voice. "I mean, they hang out a lot and work together on- on _work_ and- and…stuff."

"I don't think so. I believe I heard him tell both of you that he had somewhere to be."

"Well, he's got to be having lunch with _someone_ then. I mean, look, _look_!"

Kiku glanced in the Canadian's direction as Gilbert returned with Matthew's cream trench coat, noticing how well it draped over his thin frame once Matthew pulled it on. "No one dresses like that unless they've got someone special to show it off to, right?" Alfred argued, his voice wavering slightly. "God, that trench coat looks so good on him. It makes me wanna rip that belt off his waist and tie his wrists above his head and-"

"Please do not finish that sentence," Kiku interrupted, his cheeks flushing. "And that is not necessarily true. Many people like nice clothes. For all you know, he may just be metrosexual."

Alfred gave his subordinate a look of horror, clutching his scalp as he slumped to the floor to sulk. "Now you're telling me he's _straight_?"

"N-No, no, not at all, Mr. Jones!" Kiku tried to assure him, frantically waving his hands back and forth. "That's not what I was insinuating at all! I was just saying he might be concerned with his appearance and that could be why he dresses so well!"

"But metrosexuals are _straight_. Oh man, I don't have a chance at all if he's straight, fucking _straight_…"

Sighing, Kiku put his hands on his hips and prepared a pep talk. Dealing with emotions really wasn't his area of expertise. "If you don't mind me saying, that is not a winning attitude. I am sure with enough persistence, you could have anyone you want, no matter their sexuality."

"But-"

"Did Superman ever give up?"

"No, but he wasn't-"

"Did Batman ever give up?"

"_No_, but-"

"Did Spiderman ever give up?"

"…No…"

"That's right. So, if they did not give up, there is no reason you should. Take a chance and pursue Matthew. It could very well pay off."

Alfred's blue eyes lit up with optimism as he took in the words. "Yeah…Yeah! I just have to think like a hero!" The American shot up from the floor and quickly pulled his subordinate into a crushing hug. "Thanks, Kiku! You always know what to say to make me feel better. So, do you wanna join me for lunch? Maybe that would make Mattie jealous. We could go to McDonald's. What'cha say?"

Squirming uncomfortably inside his hold, Kiku politely requested, "Please l-let go of me…"

"What? Oh, right." Taking his arms away, Alfred sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and apologized, "Sorry. I forgot that you're not a touchy-feely kinda guy. Anyway, lunch?"

"N-No thank you. I need to get back to work on my design."

"Actually, that's a good idea. I forgot to tell you earlier, but the big guy is coming on down later. If there was any day to work your ass off, it would be today." Clapping him on the back, his superior grinned and ordered, "All right, Kiku, make me proud!"

With that, Alfred F. Jones sauntered away, the stifled notes of "Take A Chance On Me" humming in his throat. Kiku glanced at the clock and sighed. It was only half past twelve, the energy drink was bound to wear off within twenty minutes, and now he had an ABBA song stuck in his head.

Oh, the perks of Corporate America.

**. . .**

**(A/N: Sorry this note is so long and that I haven't updated in a month! So, this was **_**supposed**_** to be oneshot requested by PRUSSIAisAWESOME, who was the 200****th**** reviewer for My Skin, but the plot just kept increasing in my head, so I'm making it a multi-chapter story. I've wanted to do review-requests for a while, but I hadn't been keeping track of who wrote what number review, so I jumped at this chance. I'm going to keep track for my multi-chapter stories if they ever reach 100 reviews or further, so there will be more requests down the line. Speaking of which, Brother Complex is at 399 reviews. Just saying. Back on topic, I don't expect this fic to go on too long, maybe six or ten chapters, but we'll see. I'm also not sticking to an update schedule since I have no idea how busy school will make me, but I will update as fast as I can. I'm not sure if you all know it, but I'm actually a big Giripan fan despite the fact that I'm always writing Matfred, so I'm enjoying this change of pace. I'm also working on two sexy Matfred oneshots, so hopefully I'll finish those soon, but no guarantee. On a random note, I actually tried coconut water today. It's definitely an acquired taste.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**(So sorry for the long wait! I finally finished that oneshot so I could get back to this fic, but I've also been working on an original novel, so I'm a bit stretched. Anyway, I'm betting this story will continue for longer than I originally predicted. Perhaps somewhere around the twenty-chapter mark, but only time will tell.)**

**CHAPTER II**

Kiku Honda tried with difficulty to keep his heavy head off his desk, the effects of the energy drink having worn off and leaving him more exhausted than before. He knew, oh, he _knew_ that the caffeine couldn't keep him going for too long and the crash would be brutal and unforgiving, yet he couldn't bring himself to quit. Part of him wondered if it would be worse to be addicted to coffee or energy drinks, both of which he could not live without. Thinking of it further, he contemplated if an addiction to the controversial product known as Four Loko would be worse. Most likely so considering it was equivalent to gulping down several beers and cups of coffee. Still, all those caffeinated beverages he downed in a day couldn't be too good for his health (or sanity, for that matter), but the Japanese man was wrapped around their aluminum fingers.

To make it worse, Gilbert was currently bitching to him about his relationship troubles.

"Our boss is such a douche bag," Gilbert complained, taking a swig of Monster Energy. "Out of all the people in this department, the morons who lick his boots like he's friggin' _God_, he just _had _to choose Birdie. The bastard knows I've been pursuing him for months, ever since Birdie transferred here, but _no_. He thinks that just because he's the manager, he can have whoever he wants. If the boss could fire me for flirting with Birdie, I know he would at the drop of a hat. Power ruins people, my man. Remember that. 'Course, I can't say I wouldn't do the same if _I_ was in that position."

"Please do not take offense to this…" Kiku began, his face plastered to the graphite of his drawing and likely smudging it, "but I don't think criticizing your boss is an effective way to progress your career."

The albino scoffed, his lips curled into a snake-like smirk as he asked, "Oh, really? Last time I checked, falling asleep at your desk doesn't help your job either." Mulling on his words, Gilbert continued, "Actually, I should be getting back to work. I don't know if Al told you yet, being the douche he is, but the big guy is paying Marketing a visit today."

"I vaguely remember hearing that…somewhere…"

"All right, well, you better find a way to stay awake. Wouldn't want you to lose your job for being 'unproductive' or some shit like that." Gilbert grabbed his drink with one hand and ruffled Kiku's black hair with the other. "Get one of those Energy Shooters, man. The awesome me commands it." With that, he walked off to his cubicle, his obnoxious laughter ringing through the air. Kiku just groaned, too tired to get up and shoot more caffeine into his system.

He sluggishly tried to capture the pencil and continue drawing, but considering he was having enough trouble with the weight of his head, all he could manage were a few aimless scribbles. Frustrated, he released his grip and accepted defeat. The all-nighter had gotten the better of him and from the looks of it, it was not letting go anytime soon.

_Just five minutes…_Kiku thought, struggling just to process the words of his mind. _Just give me five minutes and I'll get back to work._

Yet, as he drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep, slumped over the hard surface of his desk, the thought of setting an alarm did not occur to him. And so five minutes passed, as did ten, twenty, and thirty…the time stretching past an hour…

**. . .**

Alfred F. Jones sat anxiously in his office, winding the wheels of toy cars as he waited for the arrival of the CEO. The impending visit was gnawing at his nerves, so he tried to relieve the stress through the small racecars speeding across his desk. The car all ready, Alfred set it down and watched it dash off and flip over on the carpeted floor. He retrieved the toy and struck its wheels against the wooden desktop like a tricky match, _one, two, three_.

There was something so relaxing in the crick of the tires, the way the spring released and sent the toy car soaring, his troubles a simple ribbon tied to the bumper. It was a routine, a pattern that eased the burdens of his mind: _rewind, reset, release, repeat. Rewind, reset, release, repeat. Rewind-_

The phone rang abruptly and tore Alfred from his trance, forcing his reacquaintance with reality. Suppressing a groan, he lightly pressed the flashing button and ordered, "Speak to me, Barbara."

"_Mr. Jones, Mr. Karpusi has arrived_."

Ah, the moment of truth. "All right, tell him I'll be right down."

"_Yes, Mr. Jones_."

Hanging up the phone, Alfred sighed and hurried out of his office, wanting not to make the man wait. After all, he was the big guy, the CEO; the one that made the Opa!-Cola corporation possible. Jabbing the "down" button on the wall, he impatiently tapped his foot as the elevator rose to service him. _Even more_… he thought, jumping as the doors opened and rushing inside, only to collide with another person. "I'm so sorry," he apologized, only to realize he had run into Matthew.

_Even more, without this job, I never would've met Matthew._

"Oh! Mattie, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there."

"It's okay," Matthew replied with a shy smile as he realigned his askew glasses.

"No, it's not okay! You could be hurt! Are you hurt?"

"No, really, I'm fine. It happens all the time."

"Um, all right then." The elevator doors started to close, but Alfred stuck his foot in between. Biting his cheek as he stuck his hands in his pocket, he began, "Um, so, did you just get back from your lunch break?"

"O-Oh, yeah, um, sorry," Matthew apologized, nervously twirling a blonde lock. "I was meeting an old friend of mine and we just lost track of time. I'll work overtime tonight to make up for it if you want."

Waving it off, Alfred assured him, "Don't sweat it. Just get down to work. The CEO just got here, so I'm gonna be showing him around."

"Oh. Oh, okay, well, thank you, Mr. Jones- I mean, A-Alfred! I'll do that."

"No problem. So, um, yeah, I have to go."

"Right, right, okay." Matthew paused in the doorway of the elevator, taking in a breath. Turning around, he said, "Um, Alfred?"

Surprised, his manager looked up from the buttons for different floors. "Yes?"

"G-Good luck with the CEO's visit," Matthew told him, a faint blush present on his cheeks.

Before Alfred could reply, the Canadian ran off to his cubicle and the doors closed. The man was left to sigh and massage his forehead as the elevator began its descent to the lobby. "God, that little _minx_."

_No, no, no, this is _no _time for distractions_, he thought, attempting to clear his head. _Gotta stay focused on the big guy. Gotta focus. Gotta focus_…

The silver doors parted and Alfred walked through, slapping on an insincerely confident smile. Glancing over to his secretary's desk, the marketing manager's blue eyes lit up with recognition. There was a man with brown hair, the chin-length waves framing his calm face. _Bingo_.

"Mr. Karpusi!" Alfred greeted him as he strolled across the tile. "It's good to see you again!"

Heracles Karpusi nodded slowly, his gaze somewhat blank as Alfred grabbed his hand and shook it violently. "Good to see you, too…" he replied in a soft voice, his olive green eyes staring pensively at his palm.

"All right, Barbara, I'll take it from here." The American gave his secretary a wink before dragging the CEO off to the elevator. "So, Mr. Karpusi, how are you?"

"Okay. The economy in Greece…as well as in the rest of Europe…is worrying me. Still, I've been able to get a good day's sleep."

Alfred laughed, pressing the button for the third floor. "Ha ha! It certainly shows. You always look so well-rested." This was a bit of an exaggeration considering Heracles generally appeared tired, but that was usually in the daytime when he was due for a nap.

"Hm…these days…all I want to do is sleep. Sleep and have sex."

"I hear you there, brother." A genuine smile arose on Alfred's lips and he laughed, feeling his anxiety start to slip away. As stressful as the preparation was, he truly enjoyed it when the CEO came to visit. Mr. Karpusi held a comfortable atmosphere that both commanded respect and kept relations lighthearted.

Arriving at their designated floor, the two men walked into the rows of cubicles, each displaying the hard work of the Marketing unit. "All right, let me give you a tour and introduce you to the group," Alfred told Heracles, heading over to the closest set of desks. "You remember these two, right? The blonde is Feliks and the other is Toris."

"Like, hey," Feliks greeted the CEO. "Long time, like, no see."

"H-Hello," Toris spoke, his nervous habit of trembling getting the better of him. "I-I hope you're d-doing well."

Heracles simply nodded, looking to Alfred as the American continued to talk. "They're in charge of when and where we advertise: which magazines, TV channels, radio stations, at what times, where to place billboards, and so on. I tell you, location, location, location."

Moving on down the row, the marketing manager stopped at another set of cubicles. "Over here, we have Ivan and Raivis. They research consumer trends, determining what is popular with customers these days, and it's always changing. What's 'hot' one day can easily become 'not', so we have to keep up on that. They communicate a lot with Eduard from Human Resources, since he manages the Opa!-Cola website and can tell them which products are selling the most, so then they can compare the sales to trends and see where we can improve."

Heracles gave them a slight nod, somewhat aware of Ivan's chilling grin and Raivis's shaking shoulders. As he left with Alfred, Ivan returned to his computer, his arctic violet eyes scanning the screen of research as his twisted mind imagined new ways to manipulate people using the data. Perhaps he could even "persuade" Eduard into tracking the information back to their owners' computers so he could figure out their addresses. Raivis simply hid his face in a steamy romance novel (hidden behind a binder of consumer data), his brown curls barely visible above the pages due to the Latvian's short stature. Long ago, he had learned that Ivan was a force to be reckoned with, so now, he did the majority of his work at home behind the safety of his computer…or so he liked to think…

Alfred continued on until he came across a certain desk. "…And here's Weillschmidt's station." Gilbert looked up at the sound of his boss's voice. "I'm sure you remember him, too. He works mostly on commercials. Casting, directing, filming, the whole shebang. This…" Alfred paused as he reminded himself that insulting his subordinate in front of Mr. Karpusi was _probably_ not a good idea, "this man, Gilbert, knows what he wants, which is why he's so good at his job. He knows _exactly_ what he wants and he knows how to execute it."

Gilbert stared at his boss, unaccustomed to praise coming from the man's lips, at least not directed at him. Oblivious to Gil's gawking red eyes, Alfred continued, "He and Mattie work together a lot since Mattie does all the writing for the commercials. That's why they hang in each other's cubicles sometimes…" the American trailed off as realization came over him, remembering how Matthew had left his coat in Gilbert's cubicle earlier. _Of course_, he thought, nearly slapping his forehead, _that's why his coat was there. God, I'm a fucking _idiot_!_

"A-Anyway," Al carried on, "You know Mattie, um, Matthew Williams, right? I mean, you were the one that transferred him here from…whatever department that was." Heracles's green eyes lit up in recollection and he nodded his head up and down, his attention firmly caught. "All right, well, he's right over there, so let's pay him a visit."

"Um, hold on a minute, boss," Gilbert interrupted, his tone surprisingly unguarded. "C-Can I talk to you for a second?"

Unsure how to react, Al replied, "Um, sure, I guess. Uh, Mr. Karpusi, Matthew's desk is right over there. You can talk with him while I settle things with Weillschmidt." Heracles seemed to agree, as he walked over to the Canadian's cubicle and drew up a chat with him. Returning his attention to Gilbert, Alfred inquired, "So, what is it?"

Gil sucked in a small breath, asking, "…Did you mean what you said? About me, I mean."

Alfred blinked as his mind processed the words, a light bulb going off in his head. "Well…yeah. You've been here for what, three years? I may not like you for…obvious reasons, but you're good at your job. If you weren't, I wouldn't have hired you, and by now, I'd have fired you."

"You're a poet it and you didn't even know it."

"…You're a punk; go suck your junk."

The albino cackled uncontrollably, clutching his sides as he leaned back in his chair. "_Kesesese_! N-Now, _that's_ the Jones I know, _kesesese_!"

"Oh, so what, you'd rather I insult you all the time? I'm not allowed to say 'good work' every now and then?"

"Hey, man, don't get me wrong, I love getting praise for what I do. It just sounds so weird coming from you. So fucking sappy."

Alfred's eye twitched at this, sending his subordinate off on another laughing fit. "…Whatever," he mumbled as he walked away. "Just get back to work, you punk."

"Ay, ay, captain!" Once his manager was out of earshot, Gilbert let his humored smile fade slightly and he went back to work. "So, he's not a complete douche bag after all…" the albino murmured to himself, conjuring images in his mind as he read Matthew's script for a new commercial.

"Hey," Alfred greeted Matthew and Heracles, who were deep in conversation by the time he made his way over. "Sorry about the little detour there."

Heracles turned to him and assured, "It's not an issue…Matthew and I were just catching up."

"Good, good!" A wide grin on his face, Alfred looped an arm around his subordinate's shoulders and declared, "I gotta say, I don't know how you found him, Mr. Karpusi, but my little Mattie here, man, has he got a way with words! As I said before, he does all the writing for the commercials, but he also comes up with the slogans we put on the products and advertisements. I tell you, his work just gets better as he goes along."

Matthew blushed as he fidgeted in his seat, embarrassed by the attention he was receiving. "I-It's really not that amazing."

"Come on, Mattie, no need to be modest," Alfred continued, starting to wonder how long the Canadian was going to keep up his innocent shy-guy act. _God, I swear, I just want to pull him onto my lap and fuck him senseless until he's writhing and begging and saying all sorts of dirty things and_- Alfred quickly cut off his thoughts before he got a hard-on, although he was sure his cheeks were lightly flushed.

"A-Anyway…oh! Mr. Karpusi, there's someone you just _have_ to meet! He's only been here for about six months, but damn, this kid can draw. Mattie, I'll see you later, okay?"

"Oh, sure, A-Alfred, whatever you want," Matthew answered.

"Great!" Walking farther along, Heracles following behind, Al boasted, "As I was saying, this kid, Kiku Honda, he has like, magic fingers or something. Like, everyone here has _some_ sort of skill in design, but Kiku is the master. He can draw, color, photograph, retouch - he can do pretty much anything! He's…he's…he's asleep on the job."

As the marketing manager stopped in his tracks, the CEO looking over his shoulder, and his prime graphic designer dead to the world, only two words ran through his head. "Oh, fuck-" he said aloud, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. "Oh, s-s-sorry, Mr. Karpusi, u-um, please excuse my- my French. Um, h-hold on a sec." Panicking to the fullest extent, Alfred violently shook the sleeping Japanese, demanding, "K-Kiku, wake the fuck up- gah! Excuse my French, M-Mr. Karpusi!"

"What?" Kiku gasped as he was rudely awakened, jerking up from the desk and rubbing his eyes. "Wh-What is going on?"

Alarmed blue irises gaped at him as Alfred informed him, "K-Kiku, um, you were asleep."

"…I was asleep?"

"You were asleep."

"I was _asleep_?" Kiku gripped his black hair as he realized the implications behind the words, staring at his superior for some kind of answer. "For how long?"

"I don't know! All I know is that I came over here with Mr. Karpusi, um, the CEO and-"

"The CEO is _here_?" Kiku squealed, turning his attention to the man for the first time. Jerking out of his chair, Kiku bowed repeatedly as he fervently apologized, "I-I am so sorry, sir, um, M-Mr. Karpusi! I-I was struggling with this- this design a-and I was so tired, s-so I- I told myself j-just five minutes, but it must have been longer, and I am so sorry!"

Yet, to his surprise, Heracles shrugged his shoulders and replied, "It's all right. From my own experience…a man works best after a great nap. There's no point in working if you can't focus…"

Kiku stopped mid-bow and Alfred stood frozen, the two completely dumbfounded by the man's response. "Um, r-right, right. I agree," Kiku stammered.

Heracles's olive green eyes were calm and intrigued as they latched onto the paper on the desk. "…Do you mind if I look at what you're drawing?"

"What? Oh, no, not at all."

Large hands reached for the sheet and brought it close to his chest. Heracles scanned over the graphite image, noting the petals fluttering from a tree, coconuts hanging from its branches. "I feel…as if I've seen a tree like this before…"

"That is a sakura tree, more commonly known as a cherry blossom tree in America. Sakura trees originated in Japan."

"Do…do they have cherry blossom trees in Japan…that can grow coconuts…?"

"Aah…no, they do not. I was just using my imagination; playing around with ideas."

"I see…" Heracles contemplated the drawing for a while longer until he yawned, stretching like a limber feline. "Jones…I'd like to take a nap before we continue. Is that all right…?"

"Of course, Mr. Karpusi," Alfred agreed with a relieved smile, as his subordinate had just dodged a very lethal bullet. "I had Barbara prepare the couch in my office with pillows and blankets, just as you like it. You know where my office is, right?" The CEO nodded. "Good. You can head over there now. I'm just going to discuss a few things with Mr. Honda here."

Once Heracles walked down the hall and into Alfred's office, closing the door, the American let the smile fall off his face as he sighed deeply. Kiku shifted in place, his hands restlessly rolling around each other. "…Mr. Jones, I-"

"Kiku," Alfred addressed him firmly, his blue eyes harsh and rigid, "there is only one person here besides Mattie that I would absolutely die without in this company, and that person is _you_. I don't think I need to touch on how absolutely, completely, and entirely horrible that situation could have turned out. I can't even _begin _to tell you how goddamn lucky you are that Heracles Karpusi is the man he is."

"I know, Mr. Jones, I-"

"Kiku, what the hell were you _thinking_? Do you _want_ to lose your job? Not only did you risk your job, but you risked the entire Marketing unit's credibility, you risked _my_ credibility, _my_ job - I dropped two f-bombs in front of the big guy! Have you forgotten that I'm your boss? That I'm responsible for every mistake you make?"

"Mr. Jones, I am so-"

"This isn't grade school, okay? For God's sake, this is the real world and I need you to man up, be professional, and do your fucking job!" Taking a few breaths as his subordinate meekly raised his hand like a student, Alfred snapped, "What?"

"E-Excuse me, Mr. Jones, but, I am sorry…" Kiku apologized, holding back tears through years of experience, so much that there wasn't even a glaze over his brown eyes. "I did not get much sleep last night due to our business call. I-I tried to make up for it with the energy drinks, but they just made me more tired. I promise that it will not happen again."

Alfred let out a deep sigh, running fingers through his blonde strands. "…Look, Kiku, I'm sorry. I know that was harsh, but I just don't want you to lose your job. Although, it looks like I'm at fault for this. Would've been considered my fault anyway: that's the life of a manager. But anyway, from now on, I promise not to call you in the middle of the night unless it's absolutely necessary."

Patting the Japanese man's back, Al told him in a softer tone, "Now, look, normally, I'd tell you to ease off the work load and get a good night's rest, but I really need the coconut water design soon; at least a sample. Please, get it done by tomorrow at the latest, if you can. That might mean you'll have to take it home and finish it outside of work. If you need to take a day off, after sending me the design, of course, or if you need a break for a serious power nap tomorrow, tell me. It obviously has to be a legitimate reason, not because you were out all night partying, okay? I mean, I get the feeling that's not your scene, but you get what I'm saying, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones, I understand."

"All right, all right, good. And again, I'm sorry, man. You know I hate to yell at you."

"I know, Mr. Jones."

"On the contrary I have no issue yelling at Gil, that little punk. He doesn't even need to screw up for me to yell at him."

"I agree, Mr. Jones."

"Damn it, Kiku, are you ever going to start calling me 'Alfred'? And stop agreeing with me. It's not cool."

"I agree, Mr. Jones."

"…Now you're doing it just to screw with me, aren't you?"

"That would be correct, Mr. Jones," Kiku answered, tilting his head to the side as he smiled. His superior grinned back amiably, ruffling the man's black hair.

"Get back to work, Sleeping Beauty."

**. . .**

Kiku grabbed a few pound bags of Sumatra and Komodo Dragon Blend coffee as he waited in line at the Starbucks counter. It was going to be a long night of art and design, so it was crucial for him to actually be conscious as he worked. However, his true mission at the Starbucks was to purchase something he had been craving ever since he woke up from his midday nap: a Java Chip Frappucino.

The man nearly licked his lips as he stared at the words on the menu, thoughts of the beverage running rampant through his mind. The mélange of coffee, milk, and ice, combined with chocolate bits and mocha sauce, and topped off with airy whipped cream and chocolate syrup was more than enough to send a diabetic into shock. What he loved even more than the smooth taste was the execution - the blend of the ingredients, the way the chocolate drizzle followed the whipped cream's trail; the overall presentation. These aspects were nothing compared to the adorable treats of his homeland, which were even more meticulously crafted and aesthetically appealing, but they were a sweet and nostalgic reminder of his Japanese childhood.

"Can I help you, sir?" the barista asked him as he reached the front of the line, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

His vacant brown eyes showing no interest in the woman, Kiku placed the packages of coffee on the counter and handed her his Starbucks card. "Yes, I would like to order a tall Java Chip Frappucino."

"That must be for your girlfriend, huh?" she inquired, ringing up the items with a lush pout and doe eyes.

Impulsively throwing in a gourmet chocolate bar, Kiku clarified, "No, it is for myself. I think it looks cute."

"Oh, and I don't?"

Kiku felt his mouth twitch as a light blush rose on his cheeks. "N-No comment…" he answered, avoiding further eye contact with the barista.

She smiled in an assumed victory and returned his card. "Have a good night, sweetie."

"Thank you…" Kiku took his coffee bags and chocolate and walked over to the pick-up counter, patiently waiting for his Frappucino to be made. He contemplated the barista's behavior and her words, frowning slightly. In all the years he had been alive, he had never understood a person's need to comment on one's appearance. Male or female, he felt awkward talking about looks, as he felt any remark would imply attraction. Telling the woman that she was cute would insinuate he was interested in her, which was not so in the least, but to explain that he did not find her (or any woman for that matter) attractive would be incredibly impolite.

The Japanese man bit his cheek, trying to imagine her large eyes and pouting lips on an anime character. The image appearing in his mind, he figured she would be rather cute as a two-dimensional girl. In fact, she would be downright _moe_ in his book, like one of the romantic interests in a dating sim game. Yet, as the three-dimensional woman she was, she was only repulsive to him. Kiku sighed, realizing there were some things that just did not translate well into real life.

"Tall Java Chip Frappucino," a male barista announced, tearing Kiku from his thoughts as he placed the drink on the counter.

"_A-Arigato_, I mean, thank you," Kiku instinctively spoke in his native language, caught off guard. Taking a sip of the chilled beverage, Kiku smiled, his taste buds delighted by the flavor. He glanced toward the clock to check the time, 6:12 at night, his eyes soon wandering to the person sitting beneath it. Wondering why he looked familiar, Kiku stared at the man busily typing away at his laptop until it suddenly clicked: it was the CEO.

The thought filled him with mortification as he remembered his terrible first impression. There was no better way to come off as a lazy bum than to fall asleep on the job the exact day the CEO is visiting. Curious as to whether it was truly him, Kiku moved closer, over to the extras bar. Sure enough, it was Heracles Karpusi, his green eyes intense and concentrating on the screen. It was strange to see the Greek so focused, especially since he had essentially come off as lethargic before, with the slow way he spoke and the blank look on his face. Yet, here he was, hard at work on his laptop. Kiku supposed this was the difference a good catnap made.

Heracles stretched his arms above his head as he finished a sentence, bringing them back down to take a sip of coffee. Sensing the uncanny feeling that someone was watching him, he looked up from his work and directly at Kiku Honda. Kiku flinched as they made eye contact, noticing the look of recognition on Heracles's face. His options were slim for the picking: there was not a doubt in his mind that he would feel awkward greeting the CEO, but it would be rude and even _more_ awkward to step out the door after getting caught. Treating his choices like those of a dating sim game, Kiku mentally clicked on the first and walked over to Heracles's table.

Now, he just had to hope his decision would lead to the good ending.


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N: As I****'ve said before, my school's hectic schedule gets in the way of my writing, but it's over now so I apologize for the long wait. I'm also trying to write an original novel, so that factors into my time for this story as well. I admit that I've lost some interest, but I always plan to finish what I start. Thank you guys for all the support as the tale continues!)**

**CHAPTER III**

"Good evening, Mr. Karpusi," Kiku greeted him, one hand wrapped around his Frappucino and chocolate bar, the other gripping his bags of coffee. He stood there uneasily, waiting for some sort of invitation to join the CEO.

Taking another swig of coffee, Heracles answered, "You too." He gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Sit."

Kiku complied and placed his purchases on the table, giving him credit for being short and to the point. "I see you are working. Are you sure I will not distract you?"

"It's nothing I can't do later…" he replied, shutting down his laptop so he could focus his full attention on the graphic designer. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I am just stocking up on coffee. I have an important design to finish. You saw the very rough work today."

"Right…those drawings of the cherry blossom tree…"

"Yes, those," Kiku confirmed, nervously swiping his black bangs aside. "…Um, I know I apologized before, but I really am sorry for falling asleep at work."

Heracles shrugged his broad shoulders and gulped down the rest of his coffee, remarking, "I believe told you this before but…there's no point in working if you can't concentrate on what you're doing. The results are never good. You were tired, needed a little nap…There's nothing wrong with that."

Somewhat impressed with his stance, Kiku simply replied, "I agree."

"That's good…"

" …Um, so what brings _you_ here?"

"Free Wi-Fi…and coffee…"

"…I see."

An awkward pause surfaced between the two, leaving Kiku to sip his drink in an attempt to fill the silence. Eyeing the Java Chip Frappucino in the man's hands, Heracles asked, "Is that good? I've never had one…"

The Japanese man looked down at the beverage, studying the chocolate trails around the whipped cream mountain. "It is. I like the presentation even more than the taste, though."

"…What do you mean?"  
Kiku relaxed against the seat back, explaining, "Before my family moved here, I lived in Japan. I was ten years old, but I suppose that is why I remember the food the most. My mother would wake up early and make my _bento _every morning. A _bento_ is a lunch box, but it is very different from the ones here. You take the lid off and the food is all grouped into sectioned out parts of the box. She would arrange and make the food so that it looked like cute animals. I remember she would turn the sausages into little octopuses."

Smiling in nostalgia, Kiku continued, "When it came to dessert, though, the food would look cute even if it did not have a face on it. Just the way that she made it, so meticulously. When I took a trip back to Japan about a year ago, I found so many cafés with cute food and it reminded me of my _bento_. One of them had ice cream, cake, and other desserts with these little candy cats on them."

Immediately, Heracles' olive green eyes lit up with interest and he leaned across the table, inadvertently invading the graphic designer's personal bubble. Kiku leaned back in his chair, trying to put some distance between them, as he found Mr. Karpusi's sudden interest a bit unnerving. He bit his lip and wondered what he possibly could have said that piqued the man's curiosity.

"…Cats?" Heracles uttered like a captivated child, his gaze unwavering with enthusiasm.

Imagining an anime-style sweat drop gliding down his hair, Kiku stuttered, "Y-Yes, cats…made of candy…specifically, colored chocolate."

"Cats…" Heracles repeated, seemingly in love with the idea.

A little flustered, the Japanese man stated, "Um, I could probably recreate one of the treats i-if you want. Hold on."

Popping off the dome-like lid of his Frappucino, Kiku stuck the straw in his mouth and opened the gourmet chocolate bar. He broke off three pieces and using the rim of the cup, shaved them into a triangular shape. After sticking two on opposite sides of the whipped cream and one in the middle below them, he grabbed three coffee sticks from the extras bar and inserted them into the white froth to emulate whiskers. Shaping two pieces of chocolate like spheres, he placed them in the appropriate places for eyes and turned the cup around for the Greek CEO to see. "See, it looks like a cat," Kiku told him, displaying his makeshift creation on the table.

Heracles' eyes seemed to grow brighter, almost sparkling with delight as he stared at the beverage's feline camouflage, his lips caught in a silent awe.

_Plus ten heart points_.

Kiku nearly slapped himself, still thinking within the constraints of a dating sim game. It was hard not to considering the nearly _moe_ look that had come over Mr. Karpusi's face.

Without any warning, Heracles rose up from the table and joined the line at the order counter, leaving the graphic designer completely dumbfounded. He watched as the barista flirted with Mr. Karpusi, a bit pleased by how ignorant he was of her come-ons, simply letting her swipe his gold card. As the man waited by the pick-up counter, Kiku noticed how well his clothes fell over his strong build. Sure, he was not muscular like a body-builder, but he definitely had a masculine form. Kiku found himself studying the CEO's anatomy - the chiseled but placid facial features, the relaxed posture of his torso against the wall, the effortless folds of fabric around his crotch…

A swift blush spread over his cheeks and Kiku shook his head back and forth in an attempt to clear his mind. He had sworn - _sworn_ on the life of Hayao Miyazaki - that he would save _those_ kinds of ideas for his BL games. It was embarrassing that they even crossed the stream of thought flowing through his head. Despite the prude he liked to portray himself as, locked away in the deep recesses of his apartment, he was a strong closet pervert.

Java Chip Frappucino in hand, Heracles returned to table, asking, "Could you…do the same for mine?"

"Ah…sure," Kiku answered as he pulled himself from his thoughts, carefully turning the beverage into another feline imitation. Adding on the finishing touches, he passed it back to the CEO, who looked unbridled with delight. "There you go."

"Thank you…so much," Heracles told him, his brazen smile starting to tickle Kiku's heart rate.

"I-It is nothing," Kiku replied, a small grin flickered onto his lips despite the swelling in his lungs. A silent minute passed as he watched Mr. Karpusi continue to stare at his Frappucino, feeling his anxiety level starting to rise. "…Is something wrong with it?"

Heracles shook his head, explaining, "…It looks so cute…that I don't want to ruin it."

Relieved that he had not done anything wrong, the Japanese man let out a sigh. "Oh. Okay. Ah, I…I really have to get to work on that design, so…"

Nodding, Heracles gave him a wave of his hand. "By all means...leave, if you must." Eyes lidded in a suggestive fashion, he added, "I hope we…run into each other again."

Unable to repress the blush on his face, Kiku quickly stammered out, "S-Same," as he gathered up his purchases and left. Before walking away from the door, he glanced at the Starbucks' window and gasped, instantly turning back around, his face growing hot. His stride grew in pace with his flustered heartbeat as he tried to calm down, sure that Mr. Karpusi was still gazing at him from that window, his expression so…

_(Sexy)._

For once, Kiku understood how Mr. Jones felt when Matthew gave him a rousing look. _He is doing it on purpose_, Kiku thought as he walked faster. _He has to be_.

He was oh so right.

**. . .**

"Almost there," Kiku encouraged himself, finishing the painstaking details on his intricate design, the clock boasting the time - 2:29 in the morning. After his encounter with Mr. Karpusi in the Starbucks, he had returned home and immediately gotten down to business. Struggling to come up with a strong design before time ran out, he had finally found the Holy Grail: a large coconut half perched on top of a lush and tropical cliff, the coconut water pouring out like a mighty waterfall.

Rapt with the excitement of reaching the finish line, Kiku pushed onward, downing his coffee with a fierce determination. He touched up the image on Photoshop: smoothing, sharpening, blending, erasing, redrawing, changing text size or color, fixing value - anything to create a flawless design. As time-consuming as it was, he had to thoroughly scrutinize his work for any problems, no matter how small. Within the constraints of a computer screen, a small speck or color out of place was not fatal, but should the image be blown up and slapped on a billboard, what was once a tiny mistake would become a salient error.

After scanning the zoomed-in picture multiple times for the slightest issue, his dark eyes hoping to find nothing short of perfection, Kiku let out his breath, resting against the back of his chair. It was done. At last, it was done.

Kiku pressed the save button for the final time, remaining calm when the screen stopped reacting. In his younger days, he would have nearly throttled his monitor in a frenzied panic, for he would have last saved his work thirty minutes before. He had made a habit of saving as often as possible, so should he need to reboot his computer, the design would still be there, one misplaced dot from completion.

Thankfully, Photoshop came back to life and the image was saved. Already logged into his email - in the middle of composing a message to Mr. Jones, no less - he attached the product design and sent it. Kiku emailed the picture to himself and printed out two copies of his work, just in case.

The graphic designer stretched his arms above his head before shutting down his computer and curling up in bed. Sinking into the welcome depression of his mattress, Kiku gave one glance to the clock: 2:53. He sighed, clutching his pillow, half his face buried into the supple cotton. Everything was so soft and comfortable and…

Then Mr. Karpusi's bedroom eyes came back into his mind.

He groaned, pulling the pillow on top of his head to repress the memory, but it refused to leave now that his mind was vulnerable to thoughts other than work. The man's green eyes focused only on him, half-closed with that seductively sleep-deprived look, fingers teasing the straw of his Frappucino…

He gasped as his cock tingled, surprised no matter how many times it had happened in his life. Embarrassed as always but unbearably pent up, Kiku took off his clothes and began to stroke himself, letting out delightful whimpers. Inside his mind, Mr. Karpusi was staring into his brown irises, large hand wrapped firmly around the Japanese man's member, moving up and down, and squeezing, oh, _squeezing_.

"_Ah_, _ah_," he sighed, eyes closed in bliss as the sensation intensified inside of him. Every touch made him tremble, sweat beading on his sensitive flesh. The thought of Mr. Karpusi's hands fondling his erection turned him on even more, imagining the man pressing up against his backside.

His shaking fingers grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, Kiku let it caress the tip of his now throbbing hard-on. The feverish feeling spread out from his groin like the heated shivers of an earthquake, and he moaned, a strong twitch in his cock indicating what was to come.

_More. Please, oh God, more._

The pleasure grew and he rubbed himself faster, his breath quickening as precum slowly dribbled out of the tip. Another twitch brought him closer to his orgasm, the intensity rising up the skin of his member. His legs spreading farther apart as he stroked rapidly, Kiku felt the pleasure climb up, up, _up_ until it finally reached the peak and burst like a firecracker.

"_OH_!" he cried, the intense contractions engulfing his cock causing his limbs to lock in place. "_Oh, oh, oh! Oh my God, oh! Oh, oh, _AH!"

Cum flooded out of his cock into the tissue, his toes curled and thighs shivering. As the remaining semen trickled out, the contractions started to taper off, fading into a dull sensitivity. His heart rate returning to normal, Kiku wiped away the cum from his tip and tossed the tissue in the trash. Exhausted but satisfied, he collapsed onto the sheets, face flushed and body slick with sweat. It had been a long time since he had masturbated to anyone outside of his BL games.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar glow of the clock. Turning to the timepiece, he pictured it laughing, ridiculing him with its tentative numbers, the red blocks changing from 2:57 to 2:58. _That was fast_, it seemed to say.

"You were made in my country, I hope you know," he scolded it. "You do not have the right to mock me like this."

The clock seemed to disagree.

Out of curiosity, Kiku reluctantly left his bed and picked it, looking on the underside.

It was made in South Korea.

**. . .**

"Marketing!" Alfred declared as the monthly department meeting began, underlining the word on the whiteboard for emphasis. "What is it?"

Kiku knew the answer, yet decided not to speak up, partly because he hated having everyone's attention on him, and partly due to his lack of sleep. With only a few hours of rest under his belt, it was hard enough to pay attention, despite the copious amount of coffee running through his system. Knowing he had completed his design only further tempted him to fall into a deep sleep, but the Japanese man refused to give in.

"It's how you trick people into buying your stuff," Gilbert joked with a smirk, eyes wandering to the manager's feet. "Just like how someone duped you into buying those _Shape-Ups_."

Self-consciously tucking an ankle behind another, Alfred mumbled, "They were on sale."

"Uh-huh. Sure, because that was the only reason you bought them."

Repressing the murderous rush rising in him, Alfred continued, "Anyway, you're _wrong_, Weillschmidt. Marketing is everything it takes to get your product to the customer. Coming up with an appealing product, creating it, advertising it, distributing it, selling it, improving it - _that_ is marketing."

"Yeah, so you're basically tricking them into buying your stuff," Gilbert reiterated, purposely trying to piss off his boss.

"Gil, stop…" Matthew spoke softly, timidly grabbing his friend's shoulder.

Sensing his touch, Gilbert reluctantly backed down. "Sorry, boss. Continue."

Alfred's smile twitched for a mere second as he twirled a marker between his fingers, irritated that Matthew was so close to the albino. "Thank you. Now, as we all know, marketing is much more complicated than that. Of course, you have to first get an idea, but without funds and the necessary materials, that idea isn't going anywhere."

"Much like that little layer of fat on your stomach," Gilbert hissed under his breath.

"…Weillschmidt, you wouldn't mind shutting up for the rest of the meeting, would you? Of course not! After all, you like that paycheck coming in every month, right?"

"…Point taken."

"Good. Now, obviously, you have to advertise, but what's also important is knowing _where_ to advertise. It's all about the target market: you're not going to promote a box of _Trojan_ condoms on a kids' channel. Likewise, you're not going to market _Yu-Gi-Oh _cards on the Wedding Channel.

"Once you've found the right channels, radio stations, magazines, or wherever else you're hoping to promote your product, you have to create ad campaigns that appeal to your target market. The customer profile of the target market reminds us how to appeal to the average customer based on his or her age, job, race, income, lifestyle, residential area, and plenty of other factors. Think of luxury hotels: their average customer is going to have a lot of disposable income and regularly live a life of pampered grandeur. The target market for our energy drinks are people that need a boost of caffeine throughout the day, such as high school students or adults doing the nine-to-five. They usually live in urban areas or commute to them, so we stock more drinks in city stores than suburban or rural ones."

Before Alfred could continue, the rattle of a doorknob captured everyone's attention, the CEO, Heracles Karpusi, meandering into the room.

"Sorry…for interrupting your meeting," Heracles apologized, focusing his half-lidded green eyes on a certain graphic designer. Embarrassed as the night before flashed back to him, Kiku kept his gaze on the notepaper before him.

"It's no problem, my man!" Alfred declared, his grin blazing bright. "I wish Barbara had told me ahead of time, though."

"That would be…my fault. This is a bit of an impromptu visit."

Kiku felt the teasingly suggestive eyes on him, trying his hardest to ignore them, the way they seemed to leisurely undress him. A shiver running through him at the thought, Kiku scanned the room for anything else to focus on.

Alfred patted the CEO on the back, laughing obnoxiously loud without any real reason. Rolling his eyes, Gilbert glanced toward Matthew, who was giggling softly to himself.

"What's so funny?" Gilbert asked the Canadian, somewhat confused.

Attempting to stifle his quiet chuckling, golden waves crashing against the shores of his reddening cheeks, Matthew replied, "It's nothing. It's just…I don't know why, but it's amusing…the way he laughs."

Gilbert felt a wave of bitter anger come over him, if not a tinge of jealousy, his red eyes narrow in irritation. "It's fucking annoying, that's what it is."

"I suppose you could say that."

"My laugh's way better. Way fucking better."

"If you say so."

Smirking to himself, Gil leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. Yes, that was the right response. That was exactly the way he liked his women…and men: quiet and submissive to his every whim. Of course, a part of him hoped to find a little spice within Matthew's personality, but the man seemed to be the spitting image of a faint-hearted rabbit.

Well, that wasn't really a problem. No, the real issue was winning over Matthew before the boss got a chance. Of course, Gilbert would never admit that he actually considered Alfred F. Jones competition, for his pride and sense of "awesomeness" would never allow it. He liked to believe no one could ever compare to his utterly awesome self.

Yet, there was a difference between liking to believe and actually believing.

"So what brings you back here, Mr. Karpusi?" Alfred inquired, scratching the back of his blonde hair.

"I…actually wanted to talk…to your graphic designer there."

Kiku flinched, keeping his back turned to the CEO despite his realization that there was nowhere to run, lest he escape through the window…and crash onto the pavement below.

"Who, Kiku?" Alfred asked, receiving a slow nod in return. "Oh, well, I could excuse him for a few minutes and you two could talk out in the hall?"

_I cannot_, Kiku thought, a hot blush creeping up his face. _Oh, it would be just like a dating sim game, but I do not feel comfortable talking to him! His eyes stare right through me every time…_

"No, no," Heracles insisted, "that's not necessary. I just…wanted to ask him if he would like to meet me at the Starbucks…this Friday night…at seven."

Several gasps and a few wolf whistles invaded Kiku's red ears as he found himself humiliated and caught between two options: he could politely decline the offer and set himself up for the bad ending, or he could accept and gain some valuable heart points-

_Credibility, _Kiku corrected himself inside his mind, embarrassed that he was still thinking like that. _Not heart points. Just job credibility. Rebuilding trust after falling asleep on the job_. _Yes…that is right…Yes…Yes…_

"Yes…" Kiku accidentally spoke aloud, nearly slapping a hand over his mouth as he realized what he had said. The rest of the department cheered in celebration, whether it was Matthew smiling sweetly, Gilbert whooping like a banshee, or Alfred striking heroic poses. Shyly turning around to face them, or at least plead with them to stop, Kiku inadvertently locked eyes with the CEO.

Heracles wore a faint grin, but nothing was subtle in the seductive olive green of his irises, half-closed and beckoning him to the closest flat surface available. Jarred by a slight twitch in his pants, Kiku quickly crossed his legs and averted his gaze, cheeks blazing in mortification.

Walking at a laid-back pace, Heracles left with a few wispy words lingering in the air: "I hope to see you then. Have…a good day."

_Plus twenty heart points._

Once the door closed, everyone turned to look at the graphic designer, who did not appreciate the attention in the least. Gilbert cackled loudly, remarking, "So, that's your type, huh? I could've guessed."

Hiding his burning face behind a notebook, Kiku began to seriously consider jumping out the window.


End file.
